


on the mortifying ordeal of falling and the rewards of being caught

by astuary



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, References to Smoking, Roommates, Slow Dancing, idiots to lovers, mildly touch-starved cody, pete's still a lil messed up from priya, very brief discussion of pete's triggers, who also thinks his crush on pete is a medical mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28911003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astuary/pseuds/astuary
Summary: pete and cody are roommates. pete and cody play video games together after battles. pete and cody slow dance in the kitchen and talk about their feelings in a very extremely platonic way, even if cody's heartbeat is maybe a little too loud and his hands a little too sweaty (it must be the monsters he drank).pete and cody get their kisses in.
Relationships: Pete Conlan/Cody Walsh, Pete the Plug/Cody "Night Angel" Walsh
Comments: 14
Kudos: 105





	on the mortifying ordeal of falling and the rewards of being caught

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is my first fic EVER like not just for d20 but the first piece of fanfic that i have written ! i simply have petecody brain worms and they wouldn't let me sleep at night unless i wrote this :)
> 
> also a MASSIVE thanks to [@sulfuric](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulfuric) without whom this genuinely wouldn't have happened! not only did they a. encourage me to write, b. beta my fic for me, and c. give me an ao3 tutorial, but d. also made [this lovely moodboard](https://mayodad.tumblr.com/post/641124766888099840/on-the-mortifying-ordeal-of-falling-and-the) for me to promo my fic with !!! without u my brain worms would've eaten thru my skull by now <3 

Pete and Cody have an established post-battle ritual—swing by the Chinese place two blocks from their house, shower off, and play video games on Cody’s PS4 until they pass out. Since the enemies of New York aren’t exactly considerate of their adversaries’ sleep schedules, the ritual occasionally begins as early as 11am or as late as 3am, but nonetheless happens without fail. Even after those late, late fights, a good hour or two of video games might still be had, amped as they were on post-battle-possible-near-death adrenaline (and if Cody had occasionally snuck an extra Monster in order to stay up later with Pete? Well, he didn’t need to know about that). Sometimes there would be a second or third trip to the restaurant if the battle was particularly early in the day, but there was always Chinese food and always video games.

The house is uncharacteristically empty on this specific Friday night—Josh is away for the week visiting family, Nasir out with some friends, and Lars and Brieta at a party they made explicitly clear they would be spending the night at. Given there are no other people to object to the sounds of electronic violence, Cody had cranked the volume on the television—“for better immersion,” as he said.

Pete had dropped the most enemies in their earlier fight and was thus bestowed the honour of picking tonight's video game. However, any competitive advantage this may have given him was overshadowed by the fact that Cody had recently been pouring hours into his games like it was his job, which, considering his recent unemployment, it may as well have been.

Pete cries out as their enemy deals the killing blow and his character cycles through his death animation. He sighs and drops the controller on the couch, flexing his fingers. “Alright, well I’m gonna make some tea, do you want any?” He asks, beginning to stand up.

“Tired of getting your shit absolutely wrecked?” Cody teases. Pete flips him off good-naturedly over his shoulder as he walks to the kitchen. Answering his question, Cody continues. “I’m good, man” he says, waggling the three-day-old cup of Mountain Dew next to him, “this Dew is all I could ever need.”

Cody hears Pete snort before calling out, “For real dude, you should like, drink water or something, you’re seriously gonna get an ulcer one of these days.”

“Nah man, my body is a temple and Dew is my communion wine, it could never hurt me.” Making sure Pete is far away enough that he can’t see, Cody pulls out his phone and quickly Googles _can mountain dew give u ulcers,_ just in case.

The sound of the tap running spills into the living room as Pete fills the electric kettle, the gentle click of it turning on following soon after. He pokes his head through the half-wall connecting the kitchen and the living room. “Hey, do you care if I play some music while I’m making this?”

Cody lifts his head distractedly, eyes still glued to the search results. “Yeah, sure thing man, whatever.” _Oh shit oh fuck wait can you actually get ulcers from drinking soda?_

The opening notes of a song float through the room from the small speaker Pete had picked off the street a few weeks ago. The twangy guitars and brass backing, as well as the utter groovy-ness of it mark it distinctly as belonging to the 70s. Even though it’s not something Cody would choose himself, he doesn’t mind it.

Based on his skimming of a few pages, it seems like drinking Mountain Dew is unlikely to cause ulcers, but it's not impossible. WebMD doesn’t really account for the reader being the freakin’ Jersey Devil though, and Cody figures that given this status plus the magic he got from selling his soul, he’s probably in the clear. Contented with his findings, he drops his phone to the couch and walks over to investigate the soft shuffling sounds coming from the kitchen. 

Pete stands in the middle of the room, back to Cody, shifting his hips and swaying his shoulders rhythmically in time with the music, fingers tracing intricate patterns in the air and head bopping slightly. Cody’s heart squeezes in his chest and he briefly runs through the ulcer symptoms he read in order to be double, _extra_ sure. He immediately feels guilty intruding upon what he assumes is a private moment, and coughs quietly to alert Pete to his presence.

His roommate turns around, a casual smile on his face. “Hey, man!” He waves Cody further into the kitchen, “Come dance with me while the water heats!” Apparently, Pete’s kitchen dancing is not something he is embarrassed by, even if it is, admittedly, not that good.

Cody crosses his arms and leans against the pillar separating the kitchen and living room. “I’m good, dude, you dance I can just … watch.” _Fucking smooooooth and_ definitely _not creepy_ , part of his mind whispers. He mentally punches it into silence.

“What!” Pete exclaims, drawing out the ‘a’ sound. “No, it’s so fun, I promise!”

Cody rolls his eyes. “I don’t really dance. At least, not like that.”

“Okay but you go to concerts all the time right? You can’t tell me that you don’t boogie even a _little_ at them.”

Cody snorts at the mere suggestion that he, the literal Jersey Devil, does not bust a move at concerts. “I wouldn’t call it boogieing but fuckin’ of course I get down. I live for the pit, I’m an absolute pit _fiend,_ ” he replies, “Only preps and squares don’t dance at concerts and I’m like, the opposite of both.” _Unprepared and a circle_ , his mind whispers. He raises his metaphorical fist at it in warning and this time it’s enough to shut it up. “I was also kind of a DDR legend back in middle school so like, yeah I’ve got moves.”

Pete laughs at this, and despite his attempts to steel his expression, Cody can feel a matching smile spread across his face.

“Okay then Mr.-not-a-prep, bring it on! Let’s see those legendary moves!” Pete says delightedly, backing up further into the small kitchen to give Cody more space. He reaches over to the small speaker and messes with the buttons, turning the volume up.

Cody paces forward slowly. “Alright, dude, prepare to have your mind blown. This is some hardcore shit, okay? You better be ready.” He takes a breath and closes his eyes, taking a moment to turn his attention towards the music filling the room. The previous song has ended, replaced by handclapping and twinkling synth melodies weaving between punchy 80s-dancefloor beats. Bright, saccharine-sweet vocals wrapped in enthusiastic sincerity sing something about… breaking the ceiling? Dancing on the roof? Again, not really his choice, but he’s heard far worse. 

He starts windmilling his arms, alternating as he extends them upwards before circling them down beside his hips and back up. After building speed, he proceeds to move his legs in time with the music in what can only be described as looking like a mermaid newly bestowed legs trying to dance for the first time. Cody knows he must look cool as fuck doing the dance of his people.

“It’s…” Pete pauses to cover his mouth with a hand, shoulders shaking slightly. “It really is movement, you really are moving.”

Cody begins lowering his arms. “Hey man if you’re just gonna make fun of me-“

“No! No, I swear to god Cody I’m not! I think it’s great,” he interrupts, waving his hands frantically. “Well, I mean like it’s a little weird but I like it!”

Cody eyes him suspiciously.

“I just wasn’t quite expecting that is all!” Pete explains, “I think it’s really cool when people just dance however they want, even if it does look… kinda weird. They always just look like they’re having so much fun and really look _themselves_ y’know? I feel like it’s… kinda beautiful, I guess.” Pete shrugs his shoulders, raising his hand to rub the back of his neck.

Cody feels a jolt in his stomach at the confession and lightly tugs his ear tail out of habit. _Stay cool, Night Angel,_ he thinks, _he didn’t call you beautiful, he called people dancing beautiful._

 _Yeah, but you_ are _dancing right now,_ another part of himself points out. He pummels that part silent too.

After a beat, Pete slowly begins moving his arms, emulating Cody’s dance and distracting him from his thoughts.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

Pete’s arms pick up speed and he begins kicking his legs out wildly in a poor imitation of Cody’s previous movement, looking for all the world like a marionette in an earthquake. “Dancing! Right?” he calls to Cody, smiling goofily.

Were it anyone else, Cody might have thought they were well and truly making fun of him, but Pete’s earlier comment and his earnest, unguarded delight makes him believe otherwise. Put simply, Pete’s current vibes are infectious and Cody soon finds himself resuming his own chaotic dancing, a matching smile on his face. 

The two careen through the kitchen, laughing as they bump off of one another, crashing into cabinets and countertops—a microcosm of the sweaty, raucous, joyful mosh pits Cody has found and left himself in so many times before. As much as he wishes he could stay in this moment (and oh, he does wish that), the song eventually comes to a close and with it, their dancing.

Pete clutches the counter as he laughs, full-bodied. “Oh my _god_ that’s so much fun, I get it, I really do.”

“Right? Moshing kinda gets a bad rep but it’s seriously the fuckin’ best.” Cody replies, unable to dampen his grin. 

The other man pauses for a moment, panting and taking in the new song emanating from the speaker. It’s much slower, lead by a piano and supported by a deep bass and leisurely drumbeat.

“I guess it doesn’t really work for this kind of song though.”

Cody briefly considers the image of a dark, sticky concert hall packed tightly with people wildly swinging to… whatever this song is. “Yeah, not really,” he snorts.

“Is there, like, a punk equivalent to slow dancing?” Pete asks, pushing himself off the counter.

“I mean, it’s not like there aren’t slower punk and metal songs, obviously there’s shit like Fade to Black and Boot Stamping On a Human Face Forever, but people don’t really mosh to them. Even with other specific hardcore forms like gabber and shuffle, which obviously are more popular in like the techno and hardstyle scenes, which I’m not really that into-” he takes a breath, “-you need a pretty high BPM. It’s kinda hard to keep kicking your legs up for a whole set if you have to hold ‘em up for a while, y’know? You’d get mad thigh muscles though.” 

Pete blinks.

“Which is to say that I don’t think so.” Cody concludes.

Pete extends his hand to Cody. “Guess we gotta dance to this one the old-fashioned way then!”

Cody feels his mouth go dry. It feels like his heart is trying to escape his chest. “What? Dude no, I just told you that goths don’t really dance to slow music and I am, like, the epitome of goth.”

“C’mon, man! My water isn’t done boiling yet and slow dancing is so much better with a partner!” Pete flaps the proffered hand.

Cody lets out the deepest, most exaggerated sigh he can muster, equal parts concern about his reputation and trepidation at the prospect of slow dancing with Pete. “Fine, man, but you can’t tell _anyone_ about this. I don’t wanna lose my cred by having people find out that I slow danced to…”

“Arctic Monkeys.”

“God, Arctic Monkeys?” Cody shakes his head. _Fucking posers._ “Whatever. Fine.” He gingerly places his hand in Pete’s and immediately becomes aware of how sweaty his palms are. Pete either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, pulling Cody in closer.

“Okay so you take this hand,” Pete instructs, lifting the hand he holds, “and put it here,” and placing it on his shoulder. “I’m gonna put my other hand on your upper back, if that’s cool.” Pete looks up at Cody and continues his movement after he nods his consent. “And then we just hold our hands like this.” Pete finishes, taking Cody’s other hand and moving it upwards to be held loosely at shoulder height.

Cody breath quickens as he feels the warmth radiating from beneath Pete’s soft hoodie, the gentle pressure against his back, and how Pete’s firm hand wraps around his own. The two stand far enough apart to make partner dancing awkward but close enough for Cody to smell Pete’s bodywash, something deep and woodsy with sharp notes of citrus. His head spins like it did the first time he ever smoked, young and dumb and desperate to prove himself. He would reach for a cigarette now—an echo of that same restless urge reverberating in his mind—if he weren’t afraid that doing so would shatter the moment entirely, hand hovering alone in the air without Pete’s to catch it.

And he would _really_ like for Pete to catch him again.

Seemingly unaware of Cody’s inner crisis, Pete begins moving, stepping slowly around the kitchen and guiding him through burning points of contact. “The basic step for your generic slow dancing is pretty much just this. There’s also a bunch of other moves that might be too advanced, but I’m sure you know this one.” He grins, raises the hand clasped around Cody’s and pushes it up and back, indicating for Cody to turn and duck under. 

Cody mumbles his familiarity with the move and dips under Pete’s arm, blushing all the while. At least he has a moment while he’s facing away from Pete to take a breath and collect his thoughts. When he comes around the other side, Pete beams at him like he did something much more impressive than hold his hand and rotate in a circle.

Cody allows himself to be stiffly led around the kitchen as they chat, trying his best not to trip over either pair of feet and maintain a normal breathing pattern. The silence they lapse into is filled by slow rock and the sounds of shuffling feet. It’s nice, peaceful. Unlike so much of the time that Cody and Pete spend together. Now that he thinks of it, it seems a bit odd that Pete would know how to dance like this in the first place—he’s not exactly a slow-paced kind of guy.

Cody breaks the silence with his thoughts. “Where did you even learn to slow dance, man?”

“Oh, uh, Priya had me take lessons back when we were still dating,” Pete replies, still moving Cody in time with the music. “She wanted to be able to impress her friends at parties and stuff so she made me learn how to waltz. I learned a little salsa too, but I was never really that good at it. Two left feet and all that,” he laughs.

At Pete’s mention of his ex, Cody tenses slightly. “Shit dude, is this, like, okay? For you?” He asks hesitantly, gesturing with his head towards their linked bodies and studying Pete’s face to gauge his reaction.

Pete dismissively waves the hand on Cody’s shoulder. “It’s cool,” he answers, “I’m mostly okay with slow dancing, it’s more about the environment and the … intention, for me. Plus, I actually sometimes it find it helpful to make new, good memories with these sorts of things so that I don’t just associate them with her,” Pete explains. “You know, working myself up to go to the old coffee shops with new friends, things like that. Thanks for checking in though, I appreciate it.”

Cody nods and swallows thickly, thinking about Pete—Vox Phantasma of New York City Pete, _his roommate_ Pete—considering the press of their palms and gently swaying bodies the makings of a good memory.

“Yeah of course man, I wouldn’t wanna like …. y’know, make things harder for you.” He responds softly.

The two quiet for a moment, taking in the gentle song filling the kitchen and the movement of air between them. Cody considers what Pete said about Priya and his dance lessons, how she used something Pete clearly loves so much for her own performative, controlling, wannabe-highbrow, microbrewery-sipping bullshit. 

“Man, Priya fuckin’ _sucks_.” 

Pete laughs, caught off-guard by Cody’s brusqueness and nods his agreement. “Yeah, yep she definitely does,” he concurs, before pausing. He looks to the floor and Cody feels his hand tighten in his own. “It’s weird though, I guess it’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I just feel like I gotta just take what I can get,” he laughs again, humourlessly this time.

There’s a sick twist in Cody’s chest. He’s seen how hard Pete tries to do good despite his circumstances, and personally felt the warmth he extends to others even when he himself is out in the cold. Not to mention that Pete can literally do magic, as if all that weren’t enough. It’s so obvious to Cody that Pete deserves so much more than what he’s been given, and it feels deeply unfair that Pete himself is unable to see that.

Cody abruptly stops swaying and withdraws his hand from Pete’s, grabbing the other man’s shoulders. “That is _such_ bullshit, Pete,” he begins firmly. “You’re, like, the raddest person I’ve ever met—and I’ve met the voice actor for Sasuke so that’s saying something—and you deserve to be with someone who’s equally rad.”

Pete looks back up to meet Cody’s gaze, lips parted in surprise at Cody’s sudden intensity. His eyes travel to a spot near Cody’s hip, eyebrows creased and mouth set as he seems to consider his words. He blinks rapidly a few times and swallows, and Cody panics slightly, wondering if he said something he shouldn’t have, if he shared too much, too fast, too close, and _god_ if he didn’t wish he was better at the whole ‘reading the room’ thing right now. His fears settle as Pete takes a breath and returns his gaze, eyes as soft as his smile.

“Thanks, Cody. That’s, um … that means a lot,” he murmurs, voice laden with appreciation.

As Pete’s eyes lock with his own, the deep brown seem to trap Cody, flooding his body with the kind of warmth usually only produced by crushing two Monsters in under a half hour. He feels vulnerable, stripped of the usual protective façade of sarcasm, irony, and gratuitous self-promotion that (he thinks) he typically wears.

 _This must be one of his powers from Nod,_ he concludes solemnly, certain this time that this was not one of the ulcer symptoms.

Pete clears his throat and rolls his shoulders, shaking off the intensity of the moment. He picks Cody’s right hand off of his shoulder and extends their arms again, resuming their slow dance. “What about you? You got any shitty exes to trash-talk?”

Cody silently thanks Pete for breaking the tension; god knows he would’ve had no idea where to go. “I mean, I had a girlfriend in high school but that was just because she was the president of the anime club and I was the vice president, so it was pretty much fated or whatever.” He grounds himself by focusing on moving his feet in time with Pete’s. “She was pretty cool, we hung out in the mall a lot and I went to my first Warped tour with her. We broke up when we moved for college.”

“Well, I hope fate brings someone else to you. If that’s something you want …?”

Cody’s stomach flips. If only Pete knew.

“Yeah!” he blurts, clearing his throat before resuming speaking in a tone that betrays less of his eagerness. “I mean, like, yeah that would be pretty cool I guess.” _Nice save, Night Angel,_ he thinks, silently praising himself for his quick recovery. 

Pete smiles softly again and damn if it isn’t going to be the end of Cody some day. He pauses thoughtfully, continuing to guide Cody slowly around the kitchen. “For the record, you also, like, deserve someone that’s as cool as you are.” He says haltingly, again capturing Cody in his gaze.

He doesn’t think it’s fair of Pete to say something so casually that makes his heart flutter as wildly as it does. He feels his face flush and manages to pull his eyes away from Pete’s, turning his head so the hair on the unshaved side of his head affords him a little coverage.

“Th-thanks man, that’s really fuckin’ cool of you to say.” He stutters.

“It’s true,” Pete insists, gently moving Cody’s blue-streaked locks aside, brushing back his improvised curtain of protection. He tucks the hair behind Cody’s ear, hand brushing lightly down the rest of his hair as it journeys back to rest on his shoulder.

Cody knows for sure this time that what he’s feeling isn’t an ulcer, but a heart attack? Maybe.

He watches as Pete’s eyes search his face and swears that for the briefest second, his eyes flick downwards, almost as if he were looking at Cody’s lips. When Pete’s eyes meet his again, something seems different in them. The warm affection they appear to hold terrifies and entices Cody, and his breath catches in his lungs.

He wants to lean in. He does. He _really_ does. At this point there’s no use denying it. It would be the easiest thing in the world to just pitch himself forward slightly, angle his head down to meet Pete and… But at the same time it would be like jumping off a cliff without knowing what might be at the bottom.

What’s it called when you have the urge to jump anyway? _L’appel du vide?_

Cody thinks he gets it.

Terrifying.

Enticing.

Some might say two sides of the same coin (Cody is one of those people).

His choice is made up for him by the sound of the front door unlocking. He snaps to immediately and can’t tell whether it’s himself or Pete that withdraws first. In an instant, Pete is on the other side of the kitchen, leaning faux-casually against the counter and Cody is far back from the edge of the cliff, left safe but wanting.

“Hey guys, I’m back!” Nasir calls to the house as he pushes the door open.

“Hey, Nasir.” Pete replies shakily, studying his hands.

“Hey, Nasir.” Cody echoes, still feeling vertigo.

“Oh, hey Pete, Cody.” he responds cheerfully, turning to look at the figures in the kitchen. “Video games and Chinese? Looks like a good night, don’t let me keep you from it! I’m gonna have a call with my mom in a bit so I’ll be up for a while still. If you don’t mind keeping it quiet after about midnight though, that’d be great.”

Pete plays with the hem of his shirt. “Uh, yeah no problem man.”

Cody flashes a thumbs up over his head, eyes fixed on his feet.

He doesn’t think he’s ever known someone to take off their shoes so slowly and, ever a man of hidden talents, Nasir is apparently competing for the world record. Of course, he also removes and hangs his jacket with the same amount of diligence he would show the robe of some ancient king. If it wasn’t already vintage when he walked in, Cody thinks it may be now—another minute longer and it should fetch at least $45 at a SoHo consignment store. Time stretches painfully as Nasir gets his belongings in order, every second he spends another opportunity for the silence between Cody and Pete to burn into Cody’s stomach.

He thinks that if there is a god, this is their punishment given for selling his soul.

His eye twitches when Nasir’s phone rings and he answers. “Hey mom! Yeah, yeah I just got back… yep, they’re doing well, they say hi by the way.” Nasir glances at Pete and Cody and waves his farewell, still oblivious to the tension between the two, before finally, _finally_ retreating to his room. Cody exhales, fingers itching for a cigarette.

After another moment of silence, Pete is the first to speak. “So, uh, back to the game then?” he laughs nervously, shifting from one foot to another.

“Yeah, the game _._ ” Cody looks away, toying with his eyebrow piercings and begging his body to calm down.

“I swear to god, this time I’m gonna kick that dude’s ass.” Pete promises jokingly, turning around to pour himself a cup of tea using water from the kettle that was, miraculously, still hot.

“Sure thing, man.” Cody smiles thinly, already heading back to the couch.

* * *

For the next two hours of video game playing, Cody and Pete sit farther apart than before the kitchen dancing incident. Their banter gradually resumes, but its typical easygoing nature is broken by a tension that even Cody can sense. He’s nearly certain that Pete isn’t angry at him, but he wouldn’t wager their relationship on his ability to accurately read other people’s emotions. He occasionally sneaks furtive glances at Pete between bites of his long-cold fried rice, trying unsuccessfully to determine how to alleviate this awkwardness (he won’t let himself hope that the tension might be something else). 

At around twelve-thirty, Cody feels his eyelids start to droop and his on-screen movements become correspondingly sloppy. While he might normally last until two or three in the morning, his earlier Google search had put him a bit off his usual Monster as well.

Pete similarly seems to be feeling the effects of the time and of their earlier battle, as after one particularly arduous fight he yawns and puts his controller down. “Alright, I think I better call it a night. I’m pretty wiped and I have to open tomorrow.”

Cody nods and exits to the menu screen of the game, avoiding Pete’s eyes. “Yeah, cool. I’m getting kinda tired too.” There’s some cool response to be made about being the Night Angel and staying up late, but the parts of his mind responsible for the cool responses have firmly retreated out of sight. 

“Cody?” Pete asks, hesitation clear in his voice. Cody hums in response, looking down to fiddle with the power button on the controller in his hand.

There’s a pause before Cody feels the couch dip beside him and Pete’s hand in his shirt, pulling him towards him, and Cody doesn’t have nearly enough time to process this new development before Pete’s lips are on his. As kisses go, it’s pretty tame—Pete's mouth barely moves against his own and it lasts only a few seconds, but it jolts Cody awake, any hope of falling asleep soon absolutely destroyed. The dreams of all of New York City swirl through him in an instant; dreams of finding true love, fantasies formed from heated glances across noisy bars, all the cheesy Hallmark rom-coms that Cody says he hates but secretly wishes he could live. He falls headlong into the kiss, spiralling and tumbling through endless air, and at the bottom, Pete is there to catch him.

The feeling fades as Pete retreats and Cody is left with an upper lip tingling slightly from the brush of his roommate’s moustache and a painful awareness of how rapidly his heart beats in his chest. When he opens his eyes, Pete’s face is flushed and his eyes are bright, inches from his face. Cody works his jaw, trying to figure out how to possibly respond before the man in front of him releases his shirt and steps back from his position on the couch.

Pete takes a frantic breath, clearly just as flustered. “Well! Night, Cody!” He exclaims, eyes wide, before turning and retreating hurriedly up the stairs. 

Cody feels like he’s simultaneously been KO’d by the monsters they fought earlier and restored to full health by Kingston’s magic. 

“Awesome.” He whispers breathlessly.

**Author's Note:**

> can u tell that i like dancing
> 
> for curious minds, the exact songs played are September (Earth, Wind & Fire), Cut to the Feeling (Carly Rae Jepsen), and No 1 Party Anthem (Arctic Monkeys). pete can have an eclectic music taste, as a treat


End file.
